


I'm open to falling from grace

by Ella (yo_itsella)



Series: take whatever you're giving, not enough [2]
Category: TwoSet, Twosetviolin, twoset violin
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, I have A Thing for Eddy's forearms, It's a very mild kink so please don't let that scare you, Just two mostly clueless horny dudes stumbling their way into a slightly less vanilla sex life, Kink Exploration, M/M, Overstimulation, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Shameless Smut, Smut, Yes actually romance too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28911975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yo_itsella/pseuds/Ella
Summary: "This is something we should explore," Eddy says. "In extensive detail."They do.Sequel immediately following the events oftake whatever you're giving, not enough. I'd strongly recommended reading that first or else this won't make much sense. Unless you just want context-less smut, in which case, welcome!
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Series: take whatever you're giving, not enough [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120445
Comments: 10
Kudos: 94





	I'm open to falling from grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wordofgab (Gabracadabra)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabracadabra/gifts).



> I never thought the most amount of research I ever did for a fic would be for something like this, but I needed to confirm the, uh, biological possibilities (and limitations) here. It's still ridiculous.
> 
> For Gab, the greatest smut-writing cheerleader in the world.

"Yes."

For all filth he'd just poured into Brett's ear, it takes only a single word to knock the breath out of him.

_Yes_.

Everything happened so _fast_ ; it was a perfectly normal practice session just five minutes ago. But the way Brett reacted to his hands sent his imagination into overdrive and Brett seemed almost ashamed to admit what he realized he wanted, and _fuck that_. Eddy wasn't going to let him feel that way for another second, but the selfish part of him also needed to convince him it was the hottest thing he's ever heard. He's pretty sure he succeeded, too, because —

Yes.

Brett feels a bit shaky in his arms, and that brings Eddy back down to earth. This isn't some abstract sexual fantasy, this is _Brett_. "I need a minute," he finally says, out-of-breath. The _alone_ is unspoken but loud.

"Of course," he agrees, giving the hip beneath his hand a gentle squeeze. "Take your time." He kisses Brett's temple and steps away, closing the door quietly behind him. He gets the need to take a moment because that was — that was a _lot_.

It won't take Brett long, he's sure, because that's just how he is. When presented with new information or a new point of view, no matter how earth-shattering or how much it changes his perception, he runs over it a few times in his mind and just… accepts it. Done. That's the way the world is (the way _he_ is) now, and there's no need to dwell on it further. It's one of the qualities Eddy admires most about him.

Eddy's glad for the chance to regroup as well, because if he'd kept going right then and there they were liable to do something stupid that they hadn't talked about or weren't ready for — or at the very least damaged their instruments and possibly some furniture. He retreats to the bedroom, grabbing a few things they'll need and setting them neatly on the nightstand.

He hesitates, wondering if he's being too presumptuous. _Yes_ can mean a lot of things, including _yes, but not this immediate second because we need to finish preparing for this video no matter how horny you are_ , and _yes, but I'm not ready for it yet._

Then he thinks about how Brett pulled at his hair and arched against him, and realizes he's being stupid. He completes his task, sits on the edge of the bed, and waits. His words from a few minutes ago, everything he'd said to Brett, turn over and over in his mind. He doesn't have a plan, exactly, just flashes of all the possibilities, each mental picture hotter and more explicit than the last. His pulse is already racing when the bedroom door bursts open.

He barely has the chance to look up before he's pushed back onto the mattress with legs straddling his lap, hands pinning down his shoulders, and a demanding mouth at his throat.

"Where," Brett asks, in between nipping and sucking at the skin under his jaw, _shit_ , he'll have to wear turtlenecks for weeks, "did you get that dirty fucking mouth?"

Well. That didn't take long.

Eddy laughs, he can't help it, only to have the sound cut off by a not-so-gentle brush of teeth just above his collarbone. "I don't — I don't even know," he manages before the hand in his hair tugs his head to the side to further expose his neck. " _Shit_ , Brett — "

He'd always struggled with the idea of dirty talk and felt self-conscious and silly whenever he tried, but Brett's admission and the mental images it conjured up short-circuited the filter between his brain and his mouth. "I don't know, I couldn't _stop_."

"You should do it more. I like it." Brett's teeth tug at his ear. "You just promised a lot of things and you'd better do every single one of them, I'm fucking serious — "

"So am I." Eddy grabs the hem of Brett's shirt and they both sit up to allow him to pull it over his head. He tosses the garment aside and leans in to finally kiss him properly, more enthusiasm than finesse. Neither of them care. Brett moans into his mouth as the action shifts him closer into his lap, letting out a brief noise of complaint when Eddy backs off long enough to peel off his own shirt.

Eddy's ( _finally_ ) gotten his hands on bare skin when he stops. "Wait, should we have a safe word for this?"

The spell breaks. Brett stares at him for a beat before bursting into laughter, head thrown back and it's not helping, the way he's exposing his throat and the bruise already forming there. "What? I'm not getting tied up and whipped or anything." His voice dies off when he looks down and realizes Eddy isn't joking. His face grows concerned. "Am I?"

Eddy chuckles. "No, not at all." He wouldn't even know where to start with something like that, and while the idea of tying Brett up is… intriguing, it's not what he wants in the moment. He mentally files it away to examine later. "Just thought I'd ask."

Brett smirks, but there's a hint of relief in it. "All right, then. My safe word is 'stop.'"

"That's... not actually a safe word."

"Do you have experience in this that I need to know about? You seem like you know a lot and if that's the case, you've been holding out on me."

Eddy shakes his head, cheeks burning. "No. I've just… read a few things. Never actually done them."

Brett shrugs. "Same," he admits. "I think 'stop' should work just fine, then."

He smiles — Brett's right, after all — but this feels important. "All right. But if we're really doing this, it's going to be intense. You have to tell me if you've had enough. I'm serious."

Brett meets his eyes, and he's not being flippant anymore. He pushes Eddy back down to the mattress and leans in for a quick kiss, brushing their noses together. "Okay."

"Okay," Eddy breathes out, a new undercurrent of excitement passing between them — _god_ , they really are doing this. He couldn't be more delighted. "Ready to find out if you can have multiple orgasms?"

"What if I can't?"

"No worries. I'll fuck you either way."

"Fuck yeah." Brett kisses him again, deeper this time, letting his weight sink down and grinding into his lap, enjoying the slow build of arousal after the initial frenzy. Eddy savors it, the heat simmering as they move in a familiar, practiced motion, mouths sliding together hot and wet and deep. There's no rush, only warmth and want sparking in his veins.

He shifts his weight and rolls them until he's on top, drawing up to his knees and reaching for Brett's waistband. He wordlessly strips off their remaining clothing; whenever their gazes meet the anticipation is electric.

He grabs an extra pillow and Brett automatically lifts his hips to allow him to slide it underneath, propping him up comfortably in an obscene display. His mouth grows dry at the view of Brett laid out before him like this. He'll never grow tired of the sight, but he loves it even more when he's wrung-out and disheveled — and now he has express permission to do everything in his power to utterly _wreck_ him.

Eddy grabs the bottle from the nightstand and somehow manages to not fumble with it while Brett watches silently, looking far too composed for Eddy's liking. "You said you liked it when I talk," he says casually, popping the lid and smearing lubricant over his left hand, warming it between his fingers. "That I should do it more."

Brett raises a challenging eyebrow, taking the bait. "You talk too much, usually." His eyes briefly fall to Eddy's hands. "I like when you talk about fucking me, though."

Eddy chuckles, low and dangerous. "I can do that. But I need you to do something for me."

"What's that?"

"Don't touch yourself."

Brett's eyes are half-lidded and very, very interested. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Eddy presses firm, slick fingers over sensitive skin, circling and teasing. Brett reflexively bends his knees to provide easier access. "I want to make you come just from this. Just my hand, nothing else. I want to watch you."

In response Brett settles back fully, folding his hands behind his head on the pillow. He never once breaks eye contact; it's almost a dare. Eddy likes it. Even more, he likes knowing he'll wipe that cheeky look off his face in short order.

"This would probably be easier if we had toys," he points out, scooting close between Brett's legs, "but a few boxes of my stuff got lost when we moved in and that was one of them."

"Tragic."

"You can help me pick out some replacements," Eddy agrees. "But for now you've just got me." He presses inside with one finger, smoothly with little resistance. "I think we can make it work."

Brett hums, low and pleased as his finger crooks in to slowly work him open. Eddy places his free hand on Brett's hip and keeps it still — usually he'd be tracing it all over the bare skin before him, teasing and stroking everywhere he could reach. Right now he has other ideas.

He leans down to where Brett's already hard and brings his mouth so, so close to where he knows Brett wants him. He stops just short, deliberately breathing hot air over sensitive skin. He's tempted to give a small tease with his tongue, maybe close his lips over the tip and suck briefly before pulling away, but that's not the game he needs to play here. He continues to hover while he speaks.

"I can't suck you off yet," he says, keeping his head low but looks up through his lashes. "If you come like that you won't be able to come again" — he smirks — "not for a while, at least. So if you want this to work, hands to yourself, all right?"

Brett licks his lips, the playfulness in his eyes replaced with pure hunger. He nods.

Satisfied, Eddy sits back and continues where he left off — right now he only wants him to have one sensation to focus on, to reduce his entire existence to a single spot without anything else to distract him. When he slides in a second finger and curls them up together, Brett's face goes slack and his eyes flutter closed, a tiny smile gracing his features.

"There we are," Eddy praises, and _that's_ what he's after. He repeats the motion. "Just like that. I know you love this. I love doing it to you."

He makes no effort to increase the pace or pressure and maintains the same steady, consistent movement. It's almost lazy, the way he lets it build, stoking the embers of a fire and watching the flames slowly lick upward. The air is warm and comfortable around them and Eddy is content to let it simmer, watching Brett's contented expression as he sinks into the mattress and soaks up the feeling.

Brett eventually meets his gaze with a sweet sigh, the tips of his ears slightly pink. They're only just getting started, they both know it, but Eddy can tell he's beginning to ache for more. His hips start rising into it, silently asking for _harder_ and _faster_.

"I'll get you there, don't worry," he promises. The blush he gets in return is gorgeous, _fuck_ , and Brett clearly wants him to keep talking. "Just lie back and let me. I'll make it so good for you, all you have to do is take it."

"Fuck, Eddy." The way that voice wraps around his name makes him press harder and he's rewarded with a low, satisfied moan. He wants to hear it again, to make the sound louder and higher. To play him like an instrument, to learn how to draw the most beautiful sounds out of it.

So he plays. He increases the intensity but not the speed, not yet, and watches Brett gradually come apart. His hands grasp at the sheets while Eddy works, the breath pulled out of him in increasingly-desperate noises while he twitches up restlessly into the touch. Eddy's hand on Brett's hip holds him steady, not quite pinning him down but keeping him firmly in place while his toes curl and his knees bend up involuntarily.

"You're getting close, aren't you? Just from this, fuck, look at you. Do you want more?" Eddy slides in a third finger and there's a bit of a stretch — the good kind, the _best_ kind — and Brett's answering groan is the most erotic thing he's ever heard, like that extra sensation was exactly what he was craving. "I'll give you more. So much more than this, just like you wanted. Just be patient."

His thumb traces back and forth across Brett's hip. Brett's hand reaches to cover his, pressing down hard and clutching at his fingers. "Keep talking," he gasps, eyes shut tight.

It feels so good, so liberating and heady, to let the words fall out of his mouth like this. To voice every wicked thought that comes to his head and know that Brett _wants_ it.

"Maybe I could make you come just with my voice. I probably could, I wouldn't need my hands at all, but right now you get both." He laughs as Brett's breath hitches, and _oh_ , he definitely likes that idea. "You're probably dying to touch yourself. Aren't you glad that I didn't let you? You don't need it, it's so much better this way. You know how deep it goes when you come like this, fuck, the way it runs through your whole body, there's nothing like it. All you need is this — "

He speeds up his fingers, and that's it, the last little push he needs to give. Brett's head drops back as he comes, knuckles going white where they grasp at Eddy's hand.

He can't decide where to look — the expanse of exposed skin of Brett's throat, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair falls across his forehead, the way he's hard and twitching over his abdomen. This is where it would end usually, where Eddy would use his hand or mouth or a combination of friction and body weight to let his lover _finish_ , to explode and bask and come down — but this is not _usually_. He continues to work his hand throughout and he can see it dawning on Brett through the post-orgasmic haze that he won't get a chance to recover. That it won't stop.

"Almost forgot what we were doing, didn't you?" Eddy asks, laughing softly. "I'm not even close to done with you."

Brett's answering laugh is halting and slightly hysterical. His glasses are askew and Eddy crawls up to settle in at his side, carefully removing the frames from his face and setting them on the nightstand.

He's never actually tried this before and Brett clearly hasn't either. He's read up on the topic, of course; seen a few videos, knows the logic behind it, and felt a bit intimidated by the prospect. He'd thought about it, extensively, then packed it away without ever getting around to attempting on himself, much less anyone else. And now Brett — jesus, _Brett_ — is writhing under his touch, raw and overstimulated and beautiful. Eddy props his head in his hand and watches it unfold, aroused and utterly fascinated.

It's so different from what he imagined. Seeing it on a computer screen always looked more sordid, somehow — darkened rooms and late nights and heavy music, sometimes with restraints and gags and scary, industrial-looking accessories he'd hesitate to call toys. Instead, they're laid out on a plush bed in their comfortable apartment, the warm afternoon sun streaming through translucent curtains. Quiet moans and soft words are their soundtrack, only hands and mouths and skin.

Brett, for his part, looks stunned and a little disoriented, eyes toward the ceiling and mouth open as a second wave overtakes him. He clenches and shakes under a firm, steady hold.

"That's it, that's it, ride it out," Eddy praises. "Just let it happen."

He never stops moving his fingers. He has twenty years of training for this — arpeggios and octaves and tenths and forty-minute concertos — he doesn't give a damn if his hand gets tired, especially not when it's making music like this.

The sounds Brett makes are delicious, and Eddy leans down to taste them off his lips. It's intoxicating, the way Brett opens up under his mouth and lets him sweep inside with a filthy slide of his tongue. He pushes him through another peak and devours the moans while Brett anchors himself with a hand in Eddy's hair. He keeps it there, clutching at the strands when he falls back to the pillow, breathing in a shuddering rhythm.

"How does it feel?" Eddy asks, dropping soft kisses to Brett's eyelids. "You sound amazing; let me hear you."

"It's — it's," he barely gets out on a stutter.

Eddy leans down, whispers in his ear. "Tell me."

"It's. So good," he breathes. "It's so _much_."

Eddy doesn't miss the way Brett's body still surges into his touch, chasing the feeling.

"You want more, though." He pushes harder with his fingers and gets a sweet, tortured gasp for his efforts.

" _Yes_. You need to fuck me, please — "

"Soon," he promises, and _fuck_ , he'd managed to mostly ignore his own arousal to this point but he's suddenly painfully aware of it, pressed hard against Brett's hip. He clears his throat. "Just one more; I know you can do it."

Brett doesn't answer with words, just another arch of his back and a keening noise from the back of his throat. But the next curl of Eddy's fingers makes him wince, hips twitching away as though he'd been burned, and no no _no_ —

Eddy stills his hand immediately. "Hey, hey," he whispers, brushing Brett's hair back off his forehead and leaning in close. "It's okay, it's okay. Look at me."

Brett shudders, panting, and slowly opens his eyes. His pupils are blown wide and he swallows, blinking to try to clear some of the fog. "Sorry," he rasps out. "S'fine, keep going— "

He will absolutely _not_ keep going if Brett decides he's had enough, but he speaks quickly to buy them some time. "All right, just — just take a second, okay? Breathe."

He scratches his nails across Brett's scalp and receives a near-imperceptible nod in response. Neither of them look away.

Eddy's never maintained eye contact with anyone this long and this close-up; it's startlingly intimate. They already mastered nonverbal communication years ago, first as friends and then as musicians and now as lovers, but nothing quite like this. The vulnerability and trust being offered floors him.

He already knew he was in love with Brett. He'd known it for years but this — he doesn't have words for the way his heart squeezes sweetly in his chest at the way they're working together, at just how much Brett is giving him, how much they're _trying_ for each other in the most personal way possible. Brett's breathing slows and steadies to match his, the rise-and-fall of their chests falling in sync the same way their music always does. The undercurrent of _want_ is still there too, thrumming under his skin loud and clear as anything.

"I never said 'stop,' you know," Brett says fondly, breathless but more settled.

Eddy chuckles. "Fair point." The next time they inhale together, he resumes the press of his fingers.

The reaction he gets is very different from the last. Brett's eyes widen slightly with a spark of hunger and a satisfied sigh, and the appreciative hum he makes vibrates through them both. Eddy continues as the responses grow progressively louder, more and more shameless as hips roll up to meet his hand. Their eyes remain locked as it builds back up, Brett gasping against his mouth. Sitting back to watch him fall apart is amazing, but it doesn't compare to this closeness, to _feel_ every gasp against his lips and watch every flicker in his eyes in an intense feedback loop. It's just as Brett said, so, _so_ much.

Finally Brett closes his eyes, the "ohhhh" that escapes him floating just on the edge of bliss.

Eddy comes back from the trance he'd found himself in now that their eye contact is broken. He twists up his wrist just to feel Brett squirm beneath him. "Good?" The smile that spreads out on Brett's face is serene and Eddy feels his own lips curve up to match.

"So good," he sighs. His laugh is soft and high-pitched, almost a giggle, and he reaches down seemingly on instinct to take himself in hand. "I need — "

"To not touch your dick," Eddy reminds him.

Brett stops when he realizes and drops his hand to the mattress, fingers involuntarily clawing at the sheets when he gets another idea. He meets Eddy's eyes. " _You_ could, though." It's pure desperation poorly disguised as seduction. It's a good look on him, Eddy thinks.

"I could," he agrees, and leans down to kiss the hollow of his throat. "I do have a free hand." He drags his lips over Brett's collarbone, casually speaking into his skin. "Should I use it?"

Brett doesn't answer, but his grip tightens around the back of Eddy's neck, his breath faltering when the fingers inside him push harder. Eddy noses further down and drags his tongue as goes, settling over a nipple and drawing it into his mouth, sucking briefly before pulling his lips away with an obscene little _pop_. "Or I could use my mouth instead. Is that what you need?"

" _Yes_ , fuck, Eddy — "

Nails scratch across his shoulder as he leans over to give the same attention to the other nipple, licking the salt from his skin. "I could, but you won't be able to come again, remember? Not like this." He speeds the motion of his hand and Brett's back bows off the bed with a desperate cry. Eddy helps him ride it out, easing him down while he sucks marks across his chest and slows his fingers to a crawl. "Do you want to be completely spent before I even start fucking you?"

He looks up to see Brett wild-eyed and gasping, and the expression on his face says that while he hadn't considered the possibility until Eddy voiced it just now, that yes, that's _exactly_ what he wants.

_Oh_. Eddy's blood rushes even hotter suddenly, and he hadn't thought — jesus — yes, _yes_ , he can — "Okay," he whispers, nodding first to himself, then to Brett before kissing him hard, the force of it pushing him back into the pillow. "Anything."

"Don't stop unless I tell you, no matter what," Brett says, panting into Eddy's mouth. "Push me."

The last thread of self-control holding Eddy together snaps.

He pulls up to his knees and ignores the disappointed noise Brett makes when he finally withdraws his hand. He fumbles with the box of wipes on the nightstand and snatches one away, hastily using it to clean the mess off his left hand before tossing it aside, not caring where it lands. His attention is required elsewhere. If Brett wants to be pushed, he'll push him.

He climbs over to settle between Brett's legs and grabs the bottle again, coating his right hand this time to give his left a rest. Brett simply watches; he's not all there, already half-incoherent but enraptured as Eddy dips his head low.

He doesn't bother teasing, not when Brett's already so primed and ready to let go. He'll set him off no matter what he does, so he skips the foreplay, licking one long stripe from base to tip before swallowing him down as far as he can. He slides two fingers inside at the same time, so slick and easy, fuck, Brett is so _open_ , and curls up his hand emphatically.

Brett nearly bucks off the bed but Eddy's prepared for it, draping his forearm across Brett's torso and using his weight to hold him down. He bobs his head up, one quick swirl of his tongue before dipping down again, humming when he's as deep as he can go just to feel how it makes Brett shiver. He sucks and swallows around him in a way designed to make him come as hard and as fast as possible, because Eddy needs to fuck him _right now_ , and he's done waiting.

Brett's moans go quieter and start to crack around the edges, ecstatic little _ah ah ah_ s wrung out of him to the rhythm of Eddy's mouth and tongue and throat. He's lifted into an exhilarated, broken crescendo while Eddy holds him down, devours it all, pushing him to the bed with one hand and beckoning him higher with the other.

Eddy keeps his lips wrapped around Brett even after he's completely spent, letting the taste rest on his tongue. Then the words _push me_ flash through his mind. He bears down with his forearm, holding Brett in place while he swallows around him again, humming low before pulling up his length with slow, wet suction. Brett seizes against the stimulation of oversensitive skin and it only spurs Eddy do it again and again, long, deliberate pulls while Brett writhes beneath him. He's no longer hard when Eddy finally stops, giving one final stroke of his tongue before lifting his head.

He wipes at his mouth when he sits up, catching his breath and stroking Brett's ribs. Brett looks completely flattened, gasping and boneless against the mattress. His hair is a wreck from constantly pulling at it, eyes glazed over, his lips red and kiss-bitten. He looks debauched, fucked-out and perfect.

Eddy slicks himself up before he can recover, eyes rolling back at the sensation of finally being touched where he's been hard and aching for so long. He wastes no time, grabbing Brett's leg and hitching it around his hip before lining himself up and pressing in.

As long as he lives, he'll never get over the feeling of that first push inside, the initial tightness and stretch and heat and the way Brett's body gives so easily for him. It takes his breath away every single time. He pushes in to the hilt and the choked-off sound Brett makes is close to a whimper. Eddy plants his elbow next to Brett's head as he leans down, bringing their faces close as he holds his thigh firmly around his waist. He didn't give in to the temptation to turn him over and take him from behind because he needs this, needs to make sure Brett is still with him. He wants — needs — to watch.

It also means he can kiss him again. He does, just a light brush of lips, and Brett doesn't even respond, just blinks up at him in slack-jawed wonder. Eddy shifts his hips forward, moving even closer, and the astonished little gasp he receives for it is delicious.

"I've been waiting for this," he murmurs, rocking his hips in rhythmic little circles, not quite thrusting but pressing in, always in, reveling in the friction and warmth with their hips flush together. It's an indulgent exercise, one meant more for slow lovemaking, but Eddy is too mesmerized by Brett to stop.

He can tell Brett's nerves are shot, raw and ragged around the edges, but he's no longer tensing around him or digging his nails into Eddy's shoulder. He's given in to it, somehow figured out a way to let go enough to let his body submit and float away on the sensation. Eddy can see the slow revelation in his expression, breaking through the fog. It's ecstasy.

Eddy presses his forehead to Brett's. "That's good, that's perfect. Just look at you, you feel incredible, taking me like this. " He doesn't expect a response — Brett is clearly beyond speech at this point. "But I can make it better."

He shifts back and hauls Brett's leg over his shoulder; when leans back down it pushes Brett's knee nearly to his chest, his hips lifted off the bed. The angle is so much better like this, letting Eddy go deeper and hit just the right spot when he presses in.

He snaps his hips, _hard_.

Brett cries out, surprised at the sudden motion, but the sound is as wanton as satisfied as Eddy's ever heard from him and it sets his nerves on fire. He sets a deliberate pace almost edging on too slow, wanting to make it last. But every thrust of his hips is forceful, strong enough that it would move Brett toward the headboard if he wasn't restrained by the weight on top of him.

Brett never closes his eyes. His head lolls side-to-side on the pillow but his gaze always comes back to Eddy, hazy and slack-jawed and pliant underneath him. A rhapsody of helpless little noises fall from his mouth with every push of Eddy's hips and he looks drunk on the sensations, buzzing and euphoric. His hand finds Eddy's shoulder but his touch is flimsy and aimless, like he needs something to hold onto but can't focus enough to figure out how.

Eddy reaches up and laces their fingers together, pressing their hands to the mattress beside Brett's head. He wants to kiss him but can't quite when they're in this position; he wants to keep talking so he can tell him how good he feels, how amazing he is, how it's never been like this, but he can't find the breath with the physical exertion.

"You're good," is all he can get out between gasps, squeezing Brett's hand. "You're so good." Brett's thumb brushes softly against his.

Eddy holds out as long as possible but can only last so long with Brett hot and tight and in complete rapture beneath him. The familiar pressure builds at the base of his spine and blooms outward, a coil and release that ignites in his veins and whites out everything around him except the heartbeat thundering in his ears. He grips Brett's hand tightly, hanging on while the rest of him lets go.

He lets Brett's leg slide off his shoulder as the rush subsides. It drops weightlessly to the bed and Eddy kisses him through the aftershocks, pressing their bodies flush from mouth to hip. Brett doesn't so much kiss back as he _allows_ himself to be devoured, his lips opening easily at the lightest prompt.

Eddy sucks on Brett's bottom lip, pulling gently with his teeth before letting go. He's still coming down but Brett is completely out of himself, eyes closed and chest heaving. When Eddy releases his hand from the mattress Brett's remains lying there, fingers twitching mindlessly against the phantom hold. He's trembling.

"Brett," he says softly, brushing his hair off his forehead. His eyes open, lazy and slow, and when they meet Eddy's they're clouded, completely unfocused. They try to drift closed when Eddy runs his hand through his hair again.

"Look at me, sweetheart." Brett does. Eddy traces his thumb over across his eyebrow, trailing it down over his cheekbone and finally across his lower lip. He drags his nail lightly over the sensitive skin, and Brett shivers at the touch.

"You have to tell me."

He stares up at him, not comprehending. Eddy kisses his forehead, firm and grounding. He's still inside of him, growing soft now, but lets the weight of his lower body sink down further.

"What you want," he reminds him.

It finally clicks and Eddy waits, the moment suspended between them until Brett's lashes flutter closed. His exhale is shaky and overwhelmed.

"Stop."

The instant he hears the word, the rush of blood in Eddy's ears falls silent. "Okay," he breathes out, feeling a little overwhelmed himself. This time when he leans in, Brett kisses back.

They sigh into each other's lips, relieved and satisfied, and Eddy continues to pet at his hair. Brett's hand eventually drifts to his back, fingertips tracing whisper-light patterns up and down his spine in sweet, lazy improvisation.

Their heartbeats calm with the setting sun, shadows casting low through the window. Eddy finally pulls away once they've both settled and he's certain Brett is all right, leaving a lingering touch on his chest before grabbing a washcloth to clean them both up. The sheets are a mess and they both need a shower, but it's enough for now. He belly-flops on the bed with a heavy exhale when he's done, completely drained.

Brett is still a boneless puddle on the mattress, but he turns his head to look at him and smiles, finally fully present. "That was something."

"That's one way of putting it." Eddy chuckles and briefly buries his face into the bed; he loves him so much. There are so many things he could say, _wants_ to say, but he feels emotionally raw and every bit as spent as Brett looks. They'll discuss it all later, he knows. " _You're_ something," is what he eventually responds with. Somehow it seems like enough.

Brett's smile grows wider with understanding, sated and glowing and _can-you-believe-we-just-did-that_. He finds the ability to move his limbs and scoots his body closer, picking up Eddy's hand and examining it briefly before pressing his thumbs into the palm and spreading them out with firm, even pressure. Eddy sighs appreciatively while Brett slowly massages out the tension through the pad of his thumb and each finger in turn, gently stretching the tired muscles and ligaments.

He groans when Brett starts working up his forearm in long, even strokes. "God, that's it, right there."

Brett smirks. "Your hand's going to be too sore to play tomorrow."

Eddy laughs; he's probably right. "Worth it. You probably won't be able to walk tomorrow."

"Not a chance," Brett agrees. He shoots him a conspiratorial glance. "We definitely need toys. And to start doing yoga or something."

"On the other hand — " Eddy observes, and Brett rolls his eyes at the pun, " — if we skip the toys and keep doing it like this, my trills will definitely get better."

Brett shakes his head, but his eyes crinkle up at the corners. "You're ridiculous." He finishes his massage and threads their fingers together with a light squeeze.

"It's why you love me."

"Yeah," he says simply, drawing Eddy's hand to his mouth and brushing a kiss over his knuckles. "I do."

~///~


End file.
